Pablo Cúzco

Aurea’s Aubade

the sun pushes the mists of morning across the sands currents rush down into the waiting houses Continue reading
Broken

The Singularity threatens our neural networks with artificial constructs, creating a perfect Anthropocene storm. Hamlet, poisoned by irony, dies. The curtain drops. Continue reading
Two Haibun

What I liked was the way the sun, warm on my back, reflected off the shiny rails, shimmering as I tried to match my steps to the awkward spacing of the railroad ties. The crunch of the granite stones under my feet, the heat rising off the rust and gravel between the tracks. It gave… Continue reading
The Natural Intention of Words

“Fuk-kien!” he said it over. Later she learned that the sound of words could mean entirely different things in other languages. We use the same words, but with different intentions, she thought. Continue reading
She Came North from the Southlands

Embraced by hope’s persistence  to bring a child from those  lotus blossom shores  to the ports  of the Mid-Atlantic  where the Chesapeake  catches the storms  meant for the Northeast.  The contour of the coast holds  the snow at bay. Continue reading
2 of My Poems at Meat For Tea: The Valley Review

My two poems Drilled Into the Woodwork and A Remembrance of Things Past — (A Proustian Rumble) are published at Meat For Tea: The Valley Review. These can be viewed by purchasing a copy. I’m providing a link – here – Volume 18 Issue 1 Boba. You can view photos of the pages – here… Continue reading